


Blond On Blond

by Min_SD



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Drama, M/M, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-26
Updated: 2009-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Min_SD/pseuds/Min_SD
Summary: My own deleted scene from Season Five, Episode Four, "The End."  Dean 2009 and Dean 2014 have hot, dark sex fraught with tension and a struggle for dominance.  Which one will come out on top?Unusual Warning: Although Sam and Dean are mentioned as a pairing in this story, it is true that the main pairing is Dean x Dean...So if you don't think you'd enjoy that, please don't read.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Season Five, takes place during "The End."
> 
> If you have sex with your double, can it be considered masturbation?
> 
> -Sam and Dean are mentioned as a pairing, but this is mainly Dean x Dean, so don't read it if you don't think you'd enjoy that, please. 
> 
> [ ](http://s1228.photobucket.com/albums/ee441/minonline/?action=view%C2%A4t=blondblond01jpg.jpg)
> 
> (Like the picture? I painted it on my laptop using PhotoImpact 11, using the airbrush and smudge features and a color pallette taken from actual scenes in the episode. It's a bit sloppier than I like, but I'm a much better artist with a pencil in my hand rather than a computer touchpad and a stylus. Used screencaps from the episode "The End" for reference when "painting" the pic, but otherwise, the work is all mine! Hope ya like it.)

  
Author's notes: Title comes from the album by Bob Dylan, dunno, it seemed fitting.

This is only kinda spoiler-y, because I don't mention any specific details of the episode. So...*shrug* 

* * *

  


Blond On Blond 

By Min   
  


How had they gotten to this point? Couldn't say, didn't know, wasn't important. They were doing this, now, so who cared why or how? 

Their kisses were frantic, Dean stroked his tongue over his double's once, twice, three, four times in quick succession. His breath rushed out of his flared nostrils, panting as his hands scrabbled at the zipper of his twin's jeans. Desire pumped strong through his veins, shooting into his cock, swelling in his balls. His future self was moaning, deep and low at the back of his throat, where Dean wanted to stuff the head of his cock, filling the warm, wet tunnel so it closed tight and hot around his hard dick. 

Both of them fought for dominance, pushing at each other's shoulders, each trying to get their hands around the other's biceps in a hard, punishing grip. Finally, Dean got his twin—but for the five years that twin had on him—against the wall of the cabin, slammed him back against the rough wood paneling so that his head knocked into the wall with a startled grunt. Dean, considering himself to be the genuine article, just popped the button on his twin's fly and got two fistfuls of denim to yank them down past his thighs. First, he had to get that pack wrapped around the second Dean's waist off, and the sheath strapped to the meaty part of his upper thigh. He slapped away busy, unwanted hands twice before he realized that they were trying to help get rid of the restraining pack and sheath. Then they were both working to remove their own pants, kicking off their boots as they went, ripping off their boxers until they were both bare-assed and pressing against each other again. 

"You son of a bitch," one of them hissed, prompting the other one to mutter, " _Mmm_ —you, too." 

"Fucker." 

"You make me sick." 

"Yeah…" 

Shrugging out of his jacket, Dean got his hands up under his twin's t-shirt and scratched at the skin stretched over his rippling abs. He felt the muscles tense and shift under his hands as his double's back arched against the wall to get the leverage to roll his hips just right. Their cocks rubbed together with enough rough pressure to be this side of painful, which made it so fucking good. They thrust against one another, both grunting, until the future self got his hand around their dicks, started jacking them nice and sloppy, twisting his wrist to spiral friction from his callused palms up both their shafts. He whimpered a little when Dean's hands traveled up his stomach to his chest, his t-shirt bunching around his wrists until he turned his hands, got a grip on the fabric of the shirt and tore it open right down the middle, just shredded it to get at the smooth curve of his pecs and thumb the hardened buds of his nipples. Dean's twin, that self yet-to-come, had to get tough, get hard over the years to survive and be a leader to the last remnants of the human race. He had to be in control, in every aspect of his life, but right now that hard-won control was being ripped away, taken from him by his own past self—and it was so fucking hot that he was achingly hard and dripping between his legs, his knees turned to butter, fighting to keep him standing with his body pinned between the wall and this man with his face fucking against him. Pre-cum ran down the slick head of his cock and along the runnel of his crown. He jerked his hips faster and faster, mind completely lost in his lust. 

Then Dean bent to get his arms between his future self's legs and hooked them under his knees. In one motion Dean stood and lifted his twin's feet right off the floor, slamming his double into the wall, knocking his head back again hard enough to have him seeing stars. 

Dean wasn't exactly sure what he was doing, he just knew that he had some crazy desire to fuck the man before him, to take him rough and hard and fast and hurt him while he did it. To take his pleasure from him and leave him shaking and ruined in his wake. At the same time, he wanted to _give_ pleasure, have him begging to come, get at that spot—shouldn't be hard to find his own prostate, right? Sam always seemed to find it just fine, would unerringly seek out that little knob of sensitive flesh—angle his cock to stroke over it again and again and take him apart. 

Trembling with the effort of holding his twin's six-foot frame up against the rough, splintered wooden wall, Dean shimmied his hips blindly, trying to get the tip of his cock to nudge at his double's tight but willing hole. He needed to get his fingers in there, open him up some, but he had both hands wrapped around the other man's knees. He made a fast decision, spun quickly and almost fell, tipping his twin down onto the little wooden table at the center of the room, reaching out to catch the back of his head before it hit the tabletop. As soon as Dean's twin slammed down onto the hard surface, his olive-green cargo jacket and the flaps of his torn t-shirt fell open, exposing his bare torso. Revealed were a white scar over his rib cage, his rose-brown, pebbled nipples, the taut planes of his muscled abdomen, and his chest, heaving with shallow, panting breaths. 

Impatient, unable to wait, Dean spat onto the index and middle fingers of his right hand and then worked them inside of his twin's ass, twisting and scissoring them as he went, to stretch the tight, hot walls and prep him as best as he could, as fast as he could. 

"Oh, God," Dean's double cried from his prone position on the table. He clenched around the two fingers sliding in his ass and hooking up to scrape over his prostate, throwing his legs around Dean, with the torturously skillful digits swirling around inside him. "You son of a bitch, son of a bitch." 

"Shut the fuck up," snapped Dean from on top and without warning he replaced his fingers with his dick, pressing past the tight rim of muscle surrounding his twin's hole. From his place on the table, Dean's double dug his heels into the other's tailbone, pulling him in and closing around his own past self's hard and jutting cock. 

The table legs shrieked over the floorboards and started to creak as the two Deans got a good rhythm going. Grunting and pouring sweat, the twin Dean was filled with his past self's rutting cock. He put his hands over his head and turned them to grasp the table edge, gripping hard enough to make his knuckles white. He rocked onto the cock filling him, stomach muscles rippling and flexing with every thrust, staring up into his own face—his own eyes burning down at him, the glazed orbs filled with a savage joy. He recognized his own darkest impulses reflected back at him, his own self-contempt, his own capacity for violence, the darkness that had come to fill his soul bleeding into his past self as he fucked himself hard enough to bring stinging tears of pain-pleasure to his eyes and have him cutting his teeth into his bottom lip. " _Nh, nh_ ," garbled moans escaped him from the striking force of the cock shoving into him like an iron branding rod. It was _good_ ; hot, letting himself be fucked like this, get taken, thrown down and stripped and filled, asshole stretching and straining, burning, cock weeping. Too much, he wanted to scream, "stop." Instead he begged, "more." 

Looking down on himself, at his cock being compressed to the point of intense pain-pleasure and swallowed up by the hole he was fucking, Dean felt more of that awful, consuming triumph that came from topping his own wild and willful twin. This was bigger than the both of them, and that knowledge set him afire with lust, his heart pounding in his ears, his breath coming too fast and shallow so that spots danced before his eyes. His hips stuttered and lost their punishing rhythm as he fucked harder and harder, the fire of his orgasm building up in him, raging through his blood and pulling his balls up, tensing his whole body, his ass cheeks clenching, his legs shaking. He pulled all the way out until just the tip of his cock was pressing into his twin's entrance, then he pushed in hard enough to jar the table, to make the man writhing on his dick lose his grip on the edge of the table and slide across its surface, almost falling before he caught himself and managed to push back into the renewed thrusting. 

Twin bodies moved toward twin orgasms, eliciting cries that mirrored one another, pleas, moans, cursing and grunting like animals rutting into each other with blind force. They finished together, the one spurting thick ropes of white cum onto his own bare chest, his cock swollen and sore though he had been driven to completion by the cock in his ass. The other came with a low and angry shout, filthy words slipping from between his pretty lips as he pumped hot spunk into his future self, possessed at that moment with a fiery determination to never become the man pinned beneath him and milking the last of his seed from his softening dick with the spasming muscles of the walls of his ass. 

"Fucking son of a bitch." 

"Motherfucker." 

" _Whore_." 

Anger snapped and fizzed between them and Dean peeled himself off of his double, wheeling away, whipping cum from his cock in a long string behind him, to lean against the wall, breathing hard. He flexed his hands into fists and pounded them against the wood paneling; then, seeing his jeans on the floor nearby, he snatched them up and stepped into them, yanked them into place around his hips and waist. He kept his back turned to the other Dean, distancing himself as best he could in the small cabin. He saw another pair of jeans, just as hastily discarded in the heat and passion of the moment, and kicked them toward the table. 

Dean's future self caught his pants with a smirk and put them on at a more casual pace. He lost the expression when he sat back on the table and felt the burning pain in his ass. He fought to draw in a steadying breath, panted into the silence that stretched and snapped, still shaking with the trembling aftershocks of his orgasm. Pleasure bubbled and simmered in his crotch and in lessening waves through his pelvis. He gnawed on his lower lip, trying to hide it as if he were suddenly shy in the presence of his own past self who had just fucked him through the table. 

So, neither of them really went in for the awkward aftermath, just fuck and run was the usual routine, one that they both resorted to without consultation. The moment passed, and they exchanged the same narrow-eyed glare. 

"I will never become you," Dean swore to himself, letting some of that darkness in, reflecting his future self more in that moment than he would have liked. 

"You'd better fucking not," Dean's double said, and it was a real threat. There was a lot he had to tell this twin of his, this version of himself that had come and gone but didn't seem to know it. He was looking at a dead man, this ghost that he had just let break him open and make him beg, make him come with shattering force. Resentment burned; he was going to ruin this man right back, to spite himself, to cover up the way he had so eagerly given up control. And how much he had liked it. 

And Dean, no, the real Dean would not become that, not in five years, not in five _thousand_ years. The night was building toward something, there was a darkness on the horizon, he could sense it, and he would take his escape gladly when it came. He couldn't imagine that Zachariah had sent him to the future to find and fuck himself, that this was the experience he wanted Dean to carry back with him. But here he was, spooked by what he'd seen and felt in the man that he was meant to be, and in the man he already was. Fuck, he still felt the lust singing through his veins, and the rush that came from breaking the man in his own dark mirror. From this disaster, Dean would take his own grim triumph, and looking over at that man that was no part of him, he let his resolve show. It was there, in the set of his shoulders, in the green fire of his eyes. 

What scared him was the knowing smile that he received in return. 

-*-*-*-


End file.
